


1,000%

by novoaa1



Series: motherland: camp half-blood [2]
Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Archery, Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Capture the Flag, Demigod Abigail Bellweather, Demigod Raelle Collar, Demigod Scylla Ramshorn, Demigod Tally Craven, Demigods, F/F, Girls With Swords, It's hard to explain, Light Angst, Mild Blood, Rick Riordan Demigod Universe | Riordanverse, Scylla Ramshorn needs a hug, Soft Raelle Collar, Soft Scylla Ramshorn, Swordfighting, Swords, also raelle swears a lot, also raelle tries to give abigail the sex talk for .2 seconds, everyone still being shitheads to scylla for basically no reason, pov raelle collar, protective raelle collar, raelle being Big Gay, raelle is not super great at archery, raelle used to play basketball in high school, we love.. Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25823491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: Scylla shrugs once more, the playful spark dulling in her gaze (if only slightly). “People talking shit about me? That’s hardly news.”“It’s fuckingbullshit.”Scylla purses her lips. “Well… " she trails off, sounding like she’s about to argue.“No, it’s fucking stupid,” Raelle insists hotly. “You’re a demigod, just like the rest of us. Youbelonghere.”
Relationships: Raelle Collar & Tally Craven, Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Series: motherland: camp half-blood [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873414
Comments: 24
Kudos: 172





	1. one week

**Author's Note:**

> i really need to start sleeping more.

Turns out, Raelle’s complete shit at archery. 

Well—comparatively, that is. All the other kids in the Apollo cabin are aces at it: bulls-eyes up the wazoo, trick shots left and right, splitting the embedded wooden shaft of one arrow in two with a perfectly-aimed arrow directly on its tail. 

Honestly, Raelle feels insufficient enough just watching the other Apollo kids ‘warm up’ at the range. And unfortunately, that feeling only intensifies tenfold when it comes her turn to give it a go. 

The first arrow she shoots using a recurve bow launches itself towards the volleyball courts (which are, thankfully, deserted). Attempts with the longbow are exponentially worse. And the compound bow? Forget it. 

Regardless, Raelle is nothing if not a quick learner. By the end of hour one, she's hitting within the red band of the 10-ring target every single time… which would probably be impressive in literally any other situation—except it isn’t ‘any other situation,’ and consequently, this feat isn’t anywhere near impressive. 

By the end of hour two, she’s scoring in the gold on a solid 90% of her shots, but it still isn’t anywhere near what the other Apollo kids are managing to do with the barest amount of effort. Her upper arms burn something awful, her back muscles are screaming for reprieve, and she’s willing to bet her cheeks and shoulders are sporting a wicked sunburn from all this time spent shooting beneath cloudless skies overhead. 

Still, she sticks it out until about 30 minutes later when a couple of the others who’d begun flinging arrows around the same time she did finally set their bows aside, unstrap their arm guards, and make to head for the showers. 

(She also makes a mental note to come back later—preferably when it’s crazy early or crazy late—to start working on shooting with her left hand, because considering how badly it had gone with her right, she could definitely do without an audience for that.)

She snatches a clean towel to blot at the droplets of sweat dotting her face and sliding down her neck, then grabs her phone and starts jogging over to see Scylla in the Hades cabin. 

She’s just arrived at the top of the two-pronged ‘U’ formation of live-in cabins, when a familiar face stops her short—Abigail Bellweather, dressed in blue mom jeans and a cuffed white T-shirt stained with blood along one sleeve. She’s got both swarthy arms crossed beneath her chest and a disapproving expression plastered upon her face, like Raelle’s the last person she wants to be looking at right now. 

“Shitbird,” she greets in a flat, no-nonsense tone. 

Raelle tosses her sweat-damp towel around her neck, shading her eyes with one hand and giving Abigail her best ‘I’m listening respectfully’ look. “Hey, Abigail.”

“I saw you hanging out with Scylla Ramshorn yesterday.” Her words are chiding; accusatory, like she’s just caught Raelle doing something grievously out-of-bounds. 

“And?"

“She’s a daughter of Hades.”

Raelle clenches her jaw, squaring her shoulders as if bracing for a fight. “ _And_ ?”

“And death follows her, okay? Tragedy, too, and not just because her dad’s king of the Underworld.”

“Yeah. The Pact, or whatever. I know.”

Abigail scoffs, though it’s entirely devoid of humor. “I’m not entirely sure that you do.”

“I don’t care that you don’t like her. Who I hang out with is _my_ business, not yours.”

“I saw you kissing her.”

“Aw, did you never get the Sex Talk?” Raelle feels the corner of her lips twitch up into a smirk. "Well, Abigail, when two grown-ups like each other very much—"

“Shut up,” Abigail snaps. "I’m just looking out for you, okay?”

“Yeah, at Scylla’s expense.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, 'so’?” Raelle demands, feeling her cheeks heat with anger. "She has just as much a right to be here as anyone else, but you’re ostracizing her for something she has absolutely no control over. Do you not see how _wrong_ that is?”

“She’s a risk, Raelle. She shouldn’t even _be_ here.”

“She’s a demigod, like us. Monsters plague her when she’s out in the real world, like us. Where else would you suggest she go?”

“Anywhere but here.”

Anger turns her vision red around the edges, and Raelle shakes her head vigorously to clear it. She needs to get herself away from this conversation, _now_ , before she does something she regrets. 

“Whatever, Abigail,” she grumbles, sidestepping her and speed-walking past. “See you later.”

The short minute-long walk over to Hades' cabin is something of a blur. She isn’t at all cowed by the human skull that hangs over the coffin-shaped wooden doors like last time, doesn’t gape at the twin sconces bearing bright green flames of Greek fire that flank the front steps on either side. She’s just too fucking _pissed_.

She retains enough sense of mind to knock rather than barging right in, but the moment the door swings open, all bets are off: Raelle is storming her way past a bemused-looking Scylla and starting in on a furious long-winded rant, hands clenched tightly into white-knuckled fists at her sides, her previous mishaps at the archery range entirely forgotten.

“Who does she even think she is? Making you pay for things that have fuck-all to do with you anyways, talking shit about you just ‘cause your dad is kind of a big deal around here, or whatever. Who even _cares_ about all that? That stuff doesn’t even matter! What matters is that you’re funny, and kind, and cute, and can do really really cool things like split the literal earth and talk to people who are gone.” Raelle huffs, taking her towel from around her neck and wringing it in her hands. 

Her next words are something of a mumble as the righteous anger flaring in her gut begins to dwindle, sucking all the fight from her body until all that remains is sore muscles and fatigue. "I _definitely_ need to get better at archery now. I’m gonna skewer her ass the next time she tries talking about you like that. Unbe-fucking-lievable.”

She chances a glance over at Scylla as she turns on her heel to continue pacing the other way, and promptly stops short at the sight that greets her. 

She's leaned herself up against the wall with both arms crossed loosely beneath her chest, wearing nothing more than a white tank top and tiny black spandex shorts that look more like underwear than anything else. There’s obvious amusement twinkling in her sea-blue eyes as she watches Raelle take her in, along with something else that Raelle can’t quite put her finger on, something that sets her very insides pleasurably aflame. 

“What?” she asks, slightly out-of-breath from her lengthy tirade, then tucks the towel into the pocket of her shorts as something of an afterthought. 

Scylla shrugs. “You’re hot when you’re angry.”

Raelle feels her cheeks flush, warmth pooling low in her gut even as her irritability of moments earlier stubbornly lingers. “Scyllaaaa,” she whines. “Were you even listening to a word I said?”

Scylla shrugs once more, the playful spark dulling in her gaze (if only slightly). “People talking shit about me? That’s hardly news.”

“It’s fucking _bullshit_.”

Scylla purses her lips. “Well… " she trails off, sounding very much like she’s about to argue. 

“No, it’s fucking stupid,” Raelle insists hotly. “You’re a demigod, just like the rest of us. You _belong_ here.”

“I’m a little different than other demigods, Raelle. My scent is… well, it’s strong. _Really_ strong.”

Raelle frowns. “What? I think you smell good. Great, even.”

Scylla giggles at that—a wonderful, melodious sound of genuine delight, and Raelle thinks it might just be the most wonderful thing she’s ever heard. 

“You’re cute, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about, like, the demigod scent,” Scylla explains, her smile fading. (Raelle aches to coax it back.) "The one that attracts monsters when we step foot outside the camp’s magical borders.” 

“Okay… "

“Because I’m a child of one of the Big Three gods, my scent is a lot stronger than a typical demigod’s. It makes it a hell of a lot easier for monsters to find me.”

“Ah, so the monsters and I have something in common, then. I suppose that’s comforting.”

Scylla’s brows knit together. “What?”

“Well, _they_ think you’re a snack; _I_ think you’re a snack… “

“Oh, my _gods_ , that was terrible,” Scylla groans, rolling her eyes—though the wide grin stretching across her pretty features is more than enough to let Raelle know it was worth it. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Only when it comes to you,” Raelle fires back with an easy smile. 

Scylla ducks her head bashfully as an adorable rosy-pink flush colors her pale cheeks. “Right,” she murmurs under her breath, more to herself than Raelle. It sounds just the faintest bit self-deprecating, if Raelle’s not mistaken; maybe even a little sarcastic.

“What, you don’t believe me?”

Scylla’s head snaps up, pink lips parted and blue eyes wide—like a deer in the headlights as she meets Raelle’s gaze. Clearly, she didn’t think that Raelle could hear her. “Wh—No, it’s not that. It’s just… You just got here, right?”

“I did.”

“It isn’t smart to be associated with the likes of me.”

“So? You already know that I don’t care about any of that.”

“Yeah, but _I do_ ,” Scylla protests, pushing herself off the obsidian wall and approaching Raelle with measured steps. “You’re going through a huge change right now, Raelle. You need friends to help you through this, and being close to me? That certainly won’t gain you any; I can tell you that right now.” She stops short with just a foot of space between them, and Raelle can’t help but yearn to grab her by the hips and pull her closer. 

“I don’t want to be friends with anyone who’s mean enough to give you shit just for existing. That’s stupid.”

“You need a support system here. I want you to have that.”

“Yeah, and you need one, too.”

Scylla’s lips curve into a faint smile, though it’s more than a little sad. “I’ve gotten this far without it.”

“But you shouldn’t _have_ to,” Raelle counters insistently, reaching for Scylla’s hand to hold in her own and internally heaving a sigh of relief when she allows it. "Scylla, you deserve people on your side. People that’ll go to bat for you, no questions asked. People that have your back. And I… I wanna be that for you, if you’ll let me.”

Scylla’s hand trembles slightly in Raelle’s grip, so she holds it a little tighter. “There’s a price to pay for that, Raelle. A price you may be willing to offer up now, but might come back to bite you later on. I don’t want you to have to learn that the hard way.”

“I understand what you’re saying, I do. But that’s not really your decision to make, now, is it?”

“You’ve been here for _three days_ , Raelle, I—… " Scylla heaves a defeated sigh. "Look, tell you what—take this next week to have a normal camp experience. Talk to Tally, eat lunch with your cabin, tell Abigail you don’t like me anymore and challenge her to a sword fighting match down by the armory, or… something.”

Raelle shakes her head, brows furrowed. “But what about you?” 

“We can still talk at night when no one’s around, split some McDonald’s over an empty grave,” Scylla teases, though it falls flat—neither of them smile. “I just… I want you to experience and understand— _really_ understand—what you’d be missing out on if you wanna keep doing… whatever it is we’re doing here. Okay?”

Raelle’s quiet for a long moment. “Is this really what you want?”

Scylla worries her lower lip between her teeth, a million emotions playing out across her pretty features. “Yes, Raelle. It’s… It’s what I want.” (She doesn’t sound entirely convinced.)

“Okay,” Raelle agrees quietly even as something tightens painfully in her chest, and she aches to take it back.

“Okay,” Scylla whispers back. 

“Can I still kiss you?”

Scylla’s lips curve into a lopsided grin. “In private? Of course.”

Raelle curls her free hand around Scylla’s hip and tugs her body flush against her own, reveling in the little gasp she lets out. “How about right now?” she asks when they’re a hair’s breadth apart, Scylla’s warm breath ghosting hotly across her lips. 

Scylla leans in until their foreheads touch, nudging Raelle’s nose gently with her own. “Absolutely.”

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also note here: 
> 
> i do (in my mostly empty brain) have a reason for why abigail's being such a dick to scylla
> 
> i didn't write out the reason in this fic, but if i do write another installation to add, i'll probably address that because i'm a slut for the whole bellweather unit being like 'hey scylla's actually dope' and then being super protective over her and loving her a lot like she deserves
> 
> but n e ways


	2. 1:00am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thank you.” She leans down to pluck her blue-plumed helmet from the ground, and nods over at Raelle’s possessions scattered across the ground. “Let’s just get our stuff and go.”
> 
> Raelle doesn’t move an inch, just stands motionless and watches Scylla with clear scrutiny in her gaze. “Can we talk later?”
> 
> Scylla hesitates, but eventually gives a shallow nod. “Sure. 1:00am, okay? Our spot.”
> 
> “I’ll be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should start actually proofreading things
> 
> but until i do, pls let me know if there are any glaring mistakes so that i can fix them :)

The next few days are absolute torture for Raelle. 

She watches Scylla sword-fight straw dummies because no one else will spar with her (and Scylla had made Raelle promise, in no uncertain terms, that she would not be brash enough to change that). She forces herself not to linger too long on Scylla’s lone figure where she sits atop the rickety wooden bench farthest away from the campfire; makes herself laugh and sing along to stupid campfire songs with Tally and Abigail like it isn’t paining her greatly to keep her distance. 

Even during mealtimes, when Scylla will show up with that resigned expression upon her face and a book in hand to seat herself alone at a table big enough for ten, she doesn’t get up and join her like every modicum of her being so desperately wants to. 

_This is what Scylla wants_ , she tells herself over and over again, repeating it like a mantra. 

(It gets harder and harder for her to believe as the deadened look in Scylla’s pretty blue eyes seems to worsen by the day, and Raelle aches to see her smile beneath the impartial light of day rather than the faintest slivers of moonlight in the pitch-black night.)

She’ll admit that it could certainly be worse, however—most campers (even Abigail) seem, for the most part, content enough to give Scylla her space so long as she affords them theirs. By all accounts, it appears to be something of a ‘live and let live’ situation… except for when it isn’t. 

Like Day 4, for example. (And yes, Raelle is counting.)

They’re let loose out into the woods for a ‘friendly' bout of Capture The Flag—children of Apollo, Dionysus, Aphrodite, and Athena bearing plumes of cardinal red atop their helmets; children of Hephaestus, Hermes, and Ares (plus Scylla) bearing plumes of cobalt blue. 

She ends up on ‘banner duty’ with Abigail (who spent their team’s entire strategizing session barking orders at everyone in sight) at the foot of Zeus’ Fist before she can think to request anything different. 

Her circular shield is small but heavy, and she has to make a conscious effort not to let her left arm shake (which is already sore from her early-morning archery session) as she holds it. The helmet is bulky and hot, and to make matters even worse, the sun is out in full force overhead. Within minutes, droplets of sweat are trickling down the back of her neck, soaking through the charcoal-grey tank top she wears beneath her breastplate (which also weighs about a million pounds, in case you’re wondering). 

The rest of it, thankfully, isn’t quite so stifling. 

The sword—a long, well-honed blade made of Celestial bronze (evidently called a ‘claymore sword’) that ends in a slim, rounded hilt; its grip wrapped in thin layers of black leather. Its rain-guard isn’t flat (as most typically are), but rather bent to form an obtuse angle that faces outward towards the blade. 

It’s heavy, and it strains the aching muscles in her right arm and shoulder (and especially her forearm), but it fits comfortably in her hand like it belongs there, and she figures that that’s all that really matters. 

Not only that—a sword is something she actually (sort of) knows how to use, unlike a bow or a shield. 

(One thing she’s learned over the past couple days? She’s pretty damn good at sword fighting.)

So, she exchanges clipped small talk with Abigail as the horn blares to signal the start of the game and sounds of conflict carry over from the heart of the woods. 

A solid 10 to 15 minutes pass before things start to get interesting (just as Abigail had said). It doesn’t surprise Raelle at all that it's Scylla who first pops out from the edge of the clearing, her katana (its midnight-black blade forged of Stygian iron) clutched tightly in one hand and her camp necklace (its brown leather cord sliced cleanly through, five clay beads dangling at her waist) in the other. 

She feels a number of things—concern for her broken necklace, of course; but mainly, _pride_. 

She feels _proud_ that Scylla’s the first to breach their side before anyone else (particularly the tenacious children of Ares); proud because she already knows damn well how resourceful and skilled and quick-on-her-feet Scylla is (even if all the other campers stubbornly refuse to acknowledge that), and seeing it in action is just icing on the proverbial cake. (The cream cheese kind, not the gross kind.)

She stands there dazedly thinking about how great Scylla is (time very well spent, if you ask her) before the resounding _clang!_ of two swords meeting yanks her back to the present. 

By the looks of things, Abigail has rushed out toward the edge of the clearing to meet Scylla half-way—engaging her in a fast-paced duel with her cavalry sword in one hand and a knife equipped with a sizable blade (both Celestial bronze) in the other. 

_Shit_ , she thinks, brandishing her sword and doing a quick sweep of the otherwise empty clearing with wide eyes. _Should I be doing something?_

Fortunately, a familiar face charging out from the thicket of trees at her 10 o’clock makes the decision for her. 

She scurries out to meet her (though she hangs back a little closer to Zeus’ Fist than Abigail does), and catches Tally’s first sword strike upon her shield _hard_ with a deafening _clang!_ that rattles the bones in her left arm all the way up to her shoulder. 

_Damn, she’s not fucking around_. 

“Hey, Rae,” Tally chirps with a wink and a wide grin before retracting her sword and swinging it around to slice at Raelle’s left leg in a single fluid motion. 

Raelle twists her body around and just barely gets her sword there in time to stop the blow from taking out her kneecap, wincing as the impact strains the aching muscles in her forearm. “Hey, Tal.”

Tally thrusts forth her shield (forged into a classic escutcheon shape), landing a hard strike to Raelle’s right shoulder, causing her to stagger backwards— _That’ll definitely bruise tomorrow_. A half a second later, she lunges forward to bring her sword down in a harsh slash that would’ve sliced right through Raelle’s collarbone had she not dragged her shield back up in time to meet the blow. 

It goes like that for another minute or two—an utterly relentless Tally wailing on the offensive, a frantic Raelle just barely managing to catch most of the attacks on the flat of her shield or the blade of her sword. 

Of course, there are more than a couple bruises and bumps already beginning to form all over her body, courtesy of numerous hits from Tally’s shield and the occasional jab from the rounded pommel of her sword. But, she’s managed not to get herself skewered thus far, and that’s more than good enough for her. 

She’s just weathering a particularly concussive blow between the eyes (which is thankfully covered by a thin metal nose-guard) via the heavy square-shaped hilt of Tally’s dagger that knocks the helmet clean off her head when she hears it—a cry of pain from the other end of the clearing. 

She immediately whirls around to take in what’s happening between Abigail and Scylla a solid twenty feet (~six meters) away, her dispute with Tally entirely forgotten. 

They’re closer to Zeus’ Fist than Tally and Raelle—maybe five feet (~1.5 meters) from its base; still just the two of them. Abigail’s advancing mercilessly upon an uncharacteristically stagnant Scylla who’s collapsed down on one knee in the grass, black jeans split above her knee to bare a thin cut that’s already oozing ruby-red blood. 

_Shit_. Raelle tosses her shield aside, gripping her sword tightly and sprinting over as fast as she can manage. 

“Raelle!” Tally calls. “What are you _doing_ ?”

Raelle ignores her.

Instead, she watches in slow-motion as a likewise helmet-less Scylla brings her katana up to block an aggressive stab from Abigail’s knife overhead. A split second later, the glinting bronze blade of Abigail’s sword comes down in a diagonal slash, forcing Scylla to drop her camp necklace onto the ground and lift her bare hand to catch it. 

Scylla lets out a quiet whimper as the blade cuts into her palm. Raelle’s less than two strides away when it begins to leak blood down her trembling wrist. 

Red clouds her vision as she surges forward, braces the grip of her sword with her free hand and shoves it into Abigail’s unprotected shoulder roughly enough to send the taller girl careening the opposite way. 

She doesn’t even really see Scylla fall back onto her heels, nor the wholeheartedly taken aback look upon her face as Raelle chucks her sword aside and levels Abigail with a hard glare. 

“What the hell was that?” she demands before Abigail can even think to get a word in. “I could understand me making a mistake, maiming someone on accident and making them bleed, but you know damn well that shit doesn’t fly around here.” 

Abigail drops her sword and tears off her helmet, flinging it to the side. (She keeps a tight hold of her knife, though, which makes some distant part of Raelle a little antsy.) “Since when are _you_ the expert?” she hisses angrily, features twisted in a menacing glower. 

“Since I heard them announce, clear as day, before we started—no maiming. No blood spilt.”

“Hate to break it to you, princess, but that’s not how it works in the real world.”

“I don’t _care_ !” Raelle yells back. “This is a fucking _summer camp_ , not a war zone!”

Abigail snarls, stepping forth into Raelle’s personal space and towering over her (which isn’t at all hard with the solid four inches—10 cm—she has over her). “I thought you didn’t like her anymore.”

Raelle glares unwaveringly back up at her. “And I thought I told you that it wasn’t any of your damn business.”

“Isn’t it?” she asks, jutting her chin back over Raelle’s shoulder and in the direction of Zeus’ Fist. “Because _you_ just lost our team the banner fighting with me over your _stupid_ girlfriend.”

Raelle spins quickly back around—sure enough, the blood-red banner emblazoned with the owl of Athena in silver is gone, and Tally is nowhere to be seen. 

_Fuck_.

Abigail snatches up her sword with a scowl, then marches past Raelle and off in a huff (though not before slamming her shoulder into Raelle’s harshly enough to make her wince along the way). 

Raelle sighs at that, then approaches a still-kneeling Scylla and drops down to a crouch beside her. 

“Hey.”

Scylla turns her head to spit a sizable glob of blood mixed with saliva into the grass. “You shouldn’t have done that.” 

“That wasn’t okay, and you know it.” She busies herself with gathering the broken leather necklace cord and its five clay beads strewn across the ground. 

“It happens,” Scylla says dismissively, using the back of her free hand to wipe at the remaining blood staining her lower lip. (She only succeeds in smearing it diagonally towards her jawline, but Raelle figures it doesn’t much matter.) “It’s fine."

“It’s not,” Raelle protests. “Let me heal you.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Scylla repeats, rising to her feet with a pained wince. Raelle follows her lead. “Abigail… Abigail can be angry. It’s okay."

She’s about to argue back, but the sound of a horn cuts her short, which she assumes means the game has come to a close (with the opposing team likely having won). 

Still, she can’t possibly care less. 

“I don’t understand why you let her take cheap shots like that, Scyl,” she huffs, offering up Scylla’s clay beads in one hand and her leather necklace cord in the other. 

Scylla sighs, taking both from her with a quiet “Thank you.” She leans down to pluck her blue-plumed helmet from the ground, and nods over at Raelle’s possessions scattered amongst the grass. “Let’s just get our stuff and go.”

Raelle doesn’t move an inch, just stands motionless and watches Scylla with clear scrutiny in her gaze. “Can we talk later?”

Scylla hesitates, but eventually gives a shallow nod. “Sure. 1:00am, okay? Our spot.”

“I’ll be there.”

— — 

She arrives at the clearing (the very same one wherein which they’d met for the very first time) a good five minutes before 1:00, stabs her sword deep into the dirt at her feet because she’s quickly grown tired of carrying it.

The moon is a mere sliver of the waning crescent that graced the skies seven days earlier, and the light it sheds upon the clearing is negligible. 

It makes her nervous, waiting in the dark. 

She spends the next couple minutes pacing furiously back and forth—anything to keep her mind off the pitch-black darkness of the night around her, the chill that seeps through her hoodie and into her very bones.

Luckily, she doesn’t have to wait for very long. 

“Anxious, are we?” Scylla questions in lieu of greeting as she appears from a cluster of lush green trees wearing black skinny jeans, a bright orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt, and a playful smirk upon her elegant features. The brown grease-stained bags of McDonald’s are absent tonight, but she knows that Scylla summoned Xander just last night (and they often only visit around once or twice a week), so that isn’t terribly surprising by any means. 

“A little,” Raelle admits. 

She watches mutely as Scylla traipses, katana in hand, over to where Raelle had anchored her sword, then swiftly embeds her weapon blade-first in the dirt beside Raelle’s without comment. 

“How’s your hand?” Raelle asks, nodding to the torn piece of black cloth secured around her palm in a makeshift bandage. 

“Fine,” Scylla dismisses with an air of lofty indifference, giving Raelle a quick once-over as she comes to stand across from her. She lingers upon the chest of Raelle’s hoodie for a split-second longer than necessary. “'Women’s Varsity Basketball Champs’?” she reads, a single brow raised. 

Raelle flushes, looking down at the red-and-black basketball-shaped trophy emblazoned across the chest of her hoodie along with those exact words in blocky white. “Um… Yeah. I, uh… played some basketball before I came here.”

“I would’ve liked to see that.”

“We weren’t very good,” Raelle informs her with a shrug. 

Scylla rolls her eyes. “I’d just have wanted to see _you_ play, dummy. It wouldn’t matter if you win or lose."

“Yeah… " Raelle trails off distractedly, a thoughtful crease forming between her brows. Scylla, for her part, just waits patiently for her to say whatever’s on her mind (because she’s perfect like that). “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Scylla’s perfectly-shaped brows shoot towards her hairline. “W-What?” 

Raelle blushes, shoving her hands into the pockets of her favorite gym shorts (a black nylon pair that reaches just below mid-thigh). “I, um… was wondering if you’d be my girlfriend?”

Scylla’s quiet for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“1,000%,” Raelle answers back without a trace of hesitation. 

“1,000%, huh?” Scylla inches forward with a wide grin, pressing herself chest-to-chest with Raelle and curling her arms around her neck. “That’s quite a lot.”

Raelle gulps nervously, scrambling to yank both hands from her pockets so they can settle themselves upon Scylla’s hips. “It is,” she agrees.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Rae,” she whispers, leaning forth to land a firm kiss upon Raelle’s lips before quickly pulling back to flash her a toothy grin. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

Raelle feels the heated flush in her cheeks spread to reach the tips of her ears. “And, um… Can I tell people we’re together now? I know you said a week, but I… I don't wanna hide any more.”

Scylla’s brow furrows, shadowed blue eyes intently searching Raelle’s for a hint of insincerity. “You really want that?” she asks, sounding smaller and more afraid than Raelle’s ever heard her be. (It nearly breaks her heart in two.)

“1,000-fucking-percent.”

“You’d better be, Raelle Collar,” she says with mock seriousness, though Raelle can hear the potent insecurity layering her tone. “I don’t wanna hear you whining later on that I never gave you that choice. Got it?”

Raelle grins broadly, leaning in to steal another quick kiss. “Got it.”

— —

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a slut for comments so absolutely let me know what you think because they really do make my whole entire day<3
> 
> (my [tumblr](https://psyches.co.vu/) or just search me up @ultralightdumbass to come talk to me there!)


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